


scents of home & fire

by Areiton



Series: Find Me In the World [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Derek Gets Therapy, Fire, Healing, Introspection, M/M, POV Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 05:44:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13474887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: The puzzle is made of two pieces of wood--oak and cedar, and they are fragrant and familiar as he works.





	scents of home & fire

He works on it at night.

When the pack has wandered away to their homes, and the moonlight and sighing wind are all to keep him company and the fire  in his fireplace crackles cheerfully at him.

He thinks it’s strange, that he is so comfortable with fire, now. His therapist, in the days when he still saw her, told him that it was healthy--that reclaiming the things he once feared was good for him.

And there was a time when fire, burning warm and bright in the family room, meant good things. Mean that his sisters were close and his parents were happy and his pack was safe. Meant long winter nights and hot cocoa and laughter.

She stole that, with so much else, for a long time, and he wouldn’t ever get his family back, but he built a fireplace in the cabin and Lily smiled, the first time he lit it, held his hand when he shook and Eric watched with wide eyes.

He sits in front of the fire and he whittles and carefully cuts.

The invitation--it _was_ an invitation--sits next to him, worn from his fingers touching it, rubbing over Stiles’ words, and he glances at it, sometimes, when he’s working.

The puzzle is made of two pieces of wood--oak and cedar, and they are fragrant and familiar as he works, filling up his senses, soft compared to the sharpness of the smoke.

When he first brought them back, Braeden had looked at the two pieces of wood and lifted a single eyebrow. One--the cedar--was young and almost green, bendable if he was careful, still bearing traces of sap that made his fingers stick.

The oak--oh the oak. It was a thick solid piece he’d carved from the middle of a fallen tree--new growth on a tree that had died. It smelled, faintly, of rot and decay, but it was still faint, just the traces of the thing he had pulled it from.

Braeden looked at the pieces in his hand and smiled, that cryptic mysterious smirk of hers, and then kissed his cheek and slipped away again.

They didn’t fit together well, and he knew it. The wood grain clashed, the colors didn’t match, even the scents of them were strange together.

But the more he worked the wood, carving and fitting the pieces together, creating a picture he couldn’t quite describe, the more sense they made.

The cedar bent and gave and fit around the solid oak, filled up the space the oak left and he sighed a little, every time a piece of the puzzle fit together.

Lily asked about it. The others didn’t, but Lily had always been the loudest of the omegas he had gathered into a pack, and he expected it, her leaning into his space and asking about the scent of oak and cedar on his hands.

“Is it for him?” she asked, and Derek glanced at her.

He didn’t talk about Stiles. Not often. Only when his wayward omega got him very drunk, and coaxed out bits and pieces of his past.

“It’s--” he sighed and she leaned against him, pressing familiar and comforting.

“Do you miss Beacon Hills?” she asks, and he glances at it, at the little puzzle box that is finished now, and shakes his head.

It’s not Beacon Hills. It’s never been Beacon Hills. He only ever was drawn there by someone he loved--Laura first, and then Stiles.

It was always Stiles who pulled him back.

He wonders what it means, that Stiles is doing the same thing now. Reaching out with tentative hands, across the years and miles that separate them and offering that thing he’s always offered Derek.

Himself.

Or maybe all he wants is a damn puzzle.

He never could tell with Stiles.

“Not Beacon Hills,” he says, quietly, and touches a finger to the box, aware of his omega watching him.

“But I have missed him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, you guys!!! The love y'all are showing this little series is so wonderful and heartwarming.  
> Just letting you know--I am adoring writing this and as long as they keep telling me their story, I'll keep writing it. <3


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